


Taken Apart and Put Back Together

by SanityisOverrated



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Begging, I don't think, Light Bondage, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, except this isn't my best, the best smut is written at 4am, tied up, trust me - Freeform, very light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:46:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanityisOverrated/pseuds/SanityisOverrated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on tumblr. Theravingredhead.tumblr.com/post/59480738757/plague-of-the-headcanons. Based on a prompt sent to Iwillincendiatetheheartoutofyou; When they have sex Sherlock probably teases the shit out of John, holding him down and denying him release until John is hoarse and begging Sherlock and making those little sounds Sherlock loves and then when John finally orgasms he screams Sherlock's name and then he can't look Mrs. Hudson in the eye for a week but she's used to it because it happens so often and she just loves seeing her boys so happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken Apart and Put Back Together

It was a peaceful Sunday afternoon. To the casual observer, the man reading the newspaper in the cluttered flat was normal, going on boring. In possession of such an ordinary name as John Watson, what else was there to say about him? If they didn’t know about the feet in the fridge, the mold experiment growing in the kitchen, then their interest would quickly move on.

However, if that happened, they wouldn’t get to observe the door below banging open, with the name “John” reverberating through the air. The source of the voice calling John’s name swept through the door, dramatic as ever. He was the reason the man named John sighed, and set down his paper. One could observe, if one watched for long enough, that these two men were flatmates. Their mutual belongings were scattered around the flat, and they were comfortable in each others presence.

If one watched for longer, as they argued about experiments and being left at the scene of yet another murder with no note, then gradually quieted down to talk about tea, they could observe that they were also best friends and lovers.

 

John quietly went around the kitchen making tea, and pressed a cup of it into Sherlock’s hands, dropping a kiss on his forehead before he went to enjoy his own cuppa. He was soundly ignored, except for the tea, but to him, it was the thought that counted.

“Solve the case yet?” John asked amiably as he sat down with his own cup of tea. Sherlock just snarled in return, and John sighed. “Guess not.” He picked up the paper again and the next few hours passed with him first reading the paper, then completing the crossword puzzle, and finally catching Doctor Who on the telly.

“Fancy going out tonight?” John’s question was met with a brooding silence. He glanced over at Sherlock, only to see him lost in the confines of his Mind Palace, bonelessly sprawled on the couch.

“Guess that’s no.” He mused to himself as he went to check what they had in the fridge that was edible. He ate enough to satisfy his hunger, watched another program on the telly until he started yawning, then looked at his flatmate and lover. With a shake of his head and a small smile, he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s forehead.

“I’m off to bed then. Don’t forget your experiments, and if I find the fridge door left open again because your mold experiments need the right environment, I’m binning them all.”

Sherlock’s eyes flew open. John pulled back.

“John, you’re a genius!” Sherlock breathed, that light in his eyes that came on only when he’d solved a case. John just blinked and yawned again. “I’ll remind you of that the next time you call me an idiot. If you go out and get shot without me, I’ll smother you in the hospital with a pillow.”

With that, John shuffled to bed. As he fell asleep, he heard the violin. It wasn’t the screeching that meant Sherlock was too busy thinking of other things to actually play, but a soft melody that sent him off to sleep with a smile.

He woke up to Sherlock crawling up his body, hair wild and smelling of the outside air.

“Sherlock?” John mumbled.

“John, you’re amazing. Always there when I need you, my conductor of light.”

Sherlock was mouthing at the crotch of his pants, so John was having difficulty concentrating, but he was confused in more ways than one.

“So you solved the case?” He managed, panting and very wide awake now.

“Lestrade is bringing in the gardener as we speak.” Sherlock hummed, seemingly more interested in getting John’s pants off then answering questions pertinent to the case. John lifted his hips obligingly, moaning when Sherlock licked a stripe behind his knee. Sherlock knew more about his erogenous zones than John himself did, although it didn’t surprise him. John shuddered as the attentions continued and Sherlock smirked victoriously.

Sherlock nipped and sucked a path up Johns legs, each breathless moan spurring him on, and then continued right past his erection, instead choosing to suck a path up Johns belly and to his jawline, which made John emit a broken plea. Sherlock had discovered early on that so much as breathing on Johns neck made him stiffen and always found it entertaining to watch him attempt to contain himself when they were out in public.

Sherlock nipped hard enough to bruise, and then laved his tongue over a spot on Johns neck. John grunted, thinking to the bruises he’d have to cover up tomorrow and felt his cock twitch against his belly as Sherlock breathed on the spot he’d bitten.

John reached to take off Sherlock’s clothes, but Sherlock growled and pinned his arms above his head with one hand, his head dipping and tongue idly circling a nipple while his fingers pinched the other.

“Sherlock, fuck, oh god, please...” It was an endless litany, John begging and pleading for Sherlock to fuck him while the detective took him apart with hands and tongue and every bit of knowledge about Johns body he had collected, which, at this point, was a fair bit.

“At least take off your clothes,” John said breathlessly as Sherlock went back down his body. Sherlock looked up at his face, flushed and wanting, but conceded to quickly divest himself of his shirt and trousers. John growled at the sight of him, but Sherlock was there before John could move, wrapping his scarf around Johns hands and then looping it through the bedpost to secure Johns hands above his head.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” It was not a proud moment for John, being as old as he was and adopting the whining tone he knew his voice had just taken on.

“Making sure you don’t go anywhere so I can continue playing with you,” The detective had the nerve to smirk. John shivered, partly with anticipation and partly with dread.

John had already discovered many erogenous zones and kinks that he hadn’t known he had in the short time that he and Sherlock had been lovers than he thought it possible for one person to have, but as Sherlock licked and sucked on the insides of his thighs, leaving him halfway blind with pleasure, he realized that it would never stop, because whatever Sherlock put his mind to, he succeeded at and right now his mind was set on taking one John Hamish Watson apart.

“Sherlock, please, anything, please, god, please.” John begged with a hitch in his voice.

Sherlock pulled back and looked at him. Johns expression was wild, pupils dilated to the point that one couldn’t tell what color his eyes were anymore, hair mussed in that way that Sherlock secretly loved. It all spoke of John Watson being taken apart, at his hands. Which gave Sherlock the power to put him back together.

He bent his head and took John in his mouth. John bucked, arching his back with a half muffled yell that he suppressed into the pillow behind him. Sherlock grinned and used his tongue to further break the man underneath him, writhing and cursing all the way. It made for a delectable picture.

Sherlock teased him at first, suckling on the very tip of his cock and looking at John from underneath his lashes. Sherlock oh so slowly went down until he only had room to place his index finger and thumb around the base of Johns cock to prevent him from coming, breathing slowly through his nose so he wasn’t drawing back for a breath every five seconds. John huffed a frustrated breath, hips canting up in an effort to get more friction. He froze as he heard the sound of a tube being opened, opening his mouth to ask, but he only croaked, throat dry.

His suspicions were confirmed when Sherlock pressed his legs open wider, dragging one over his shoulder. A cool, slick finger slowly pressed it’s way inside him and he froze for a second. Sherlock waited patiently, tongue rubbing the underside of his cock to distract him. It proved a worthy distraction and John relaxed, senses wrapped up in everything that was Sherlock.

Sherlock prepped him slowly, purposely avoiding his prostate, dragging his mouth up and down John’s cock, slowly and with relish as each drew a breathless moan or gasp from his mouth. Sherlock brushed his prostate, quite on accident, and John yelled, far past the point of caring that it was currently early in the morning.

Sherlock added more lube and a third finger and moaned at the sight, almost as far gone as John, for as intoxicating as the feel of Sherlock was to John, the sights and sounds of John coming undone at his hand were doubly so for Sherlock and he was harder than he’d ever been. John sobbed at the feel of Sherlock moaning around his cock and Sherlock finally drew off, breathing raggedly as he hurriedly thrust his pants off and scooted up the bed until he could put Johns legs over his shoulders. His cock bobbed as he scooted up the bed, and he moaned as he nudged himself against Johns hole.

“John.” It was a question, a treaty, and an endearment wrapped up in one.

“Yes, God, Sherlock, yes.” John snapped at him hoarsely. Sherlock groaned and slowly pressed forward, both of them moaning as they finally got a semblance of relief.

“Sherlock Holmes, if you don’t move immediately, I’m kicking you out and finishing myself.” John growled.

Sherlock gasped as John tightened around him quite purposefully and laughed before snapping his hips forward until his pelvis met Johns ass. He hissed at the feeling of being encompassed everywhere by John.

“John, you’re so tight, I’m not going to last long.” He grunted, slowly drawing out until he barely remained inside, then snapping back inside.

“‘s alright, I was ready to come ten minutes ago.” John muttered.

Sherlock snorted in amusement, then shifted the angle, and set about establishing a rough rhythm. John cried out as he thrust back in and Sherlock grinned, knowing he’d found his prostate. He held Johns hips up and watched as the man underneath him crumbled and broke apart. He himself trembled on the edge, but he thrust with the intent of seeing John broken and put back together with pleasure.

His hand grasped Johns cock and gave it a couple strokes. “John.” he growled, snapping his hips forward.

John stiffened, his eyes snapping open and mouth opening then closing. Sherlock felt him clench around him and grunted as John came, screaming his name. A primal part of him was deeply satisfied at that. He chased his release and found it, thrusting deep within John and letting go with a shout of his own.

He barely avoided collapsing on John, as they lay there, chests heaving, still shivering from aftershocks. The thought of cleanup briefly entered Sherlock’s mind, but he dismissed it, eyes already fluttering as he watched John give in to exhaustion as well.

The next morning they were on their way out the door so Sherlock could give a statement and met Mrs. Hudson at the door.

“Oh dear, is there another murder?” She asked anxiously.

“I solved the case last night, Mrs. Hudson. Do keep up.” Sherlock said briskly.

“Ah,” Mrs. Hudson said wisely, nodding her head. “Oh, and boys, try to keep the noise down next time.” she said with a smile before she ducked back inside her flat. Johns face was red all the way to the station.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Nothing belongs to me. This was written and thrown on tumblr somewhere around 4am, so please excuse any mistakes XD Also, unedited, unbritpicked, so... if you see any glaring mistakes or could help me with British colloquialisms, I'd really appreciate it. Hope you enjoyed!


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